Articles for tag: Preacher’s Kid

Surprised by Life

(This article originally appeared in the April 2013 issue of Christian Standard)   By Daniel Schantz To a child, a cemetery is the perfect playground. It has a hundred hiding places, and if you fall down, the grass is very forgiving. I was 7 years old, playing hide-and-seek in the cemetery next to the country church, just outside of New Antioch, Ohio, where my father preached. “Don’t play on the graves,” my mother warned. “It’s disrespectful.” “OK,” I said, but I didn’t see it her way. I thought that if I were buried in the ground I would get really

Protecting Your PK

By Angela Sanders I am a minister”s wife. I have the scars to prove it, but my children don”t. Not because they didn”t see. Not because they didn”t hear. Not because we lied to them. We didn”t. Hunter and Hope came through an enemy attack on their family by church members with their optimism, faith, and desire to serve the body intact. This was possible only because a few who had successfully waded through the murky waters of vocational ministry ahead of us were selfless enough to take us by the hand and teach us to survive and thrive””and maintain

My Father, My Preacher

By Emerson Kennedy Have you ever wondered how much preachers actually do? Some people think ministers preach on Sunday mornings””and that”s all. Had my father not been a preacher, I might have been inclined to agree. However, as a preacher”s kid my entire life, I can say without any hesitation there is a lot more to a preacher”s service than what happens on Sunday mornings. I grew up in a small church of about 100 in western Maryland. And, like all churches, our congregation came with its own set of problems. I want to take you behind the scenes of

The Envelopes, Please

By Daniel Schantz   I have enjoyed a lifelong romance with envelopes. When I was just a boy, my preacher-father supplied me with several boxes of leftover offering envelopes to play with. I have been in love with envelopes ever since. About the size of an index card, these little envelopes gave me much pleasure. We lived in Springfield, Ohio, at the time, the city where I was born. My cousins lived there, too, and on Saturdays we held a secret club meeting in a dusty corncrib, organized by my oldest cousin, Carol. She appointed herself president of the club, but the purpose of the

growing up in a parsonage

Seven Heavens

Daniel Schantz looks back with humor and affection on growing up in seven parsonages, recalling crowded homes, nonexistent privacy, childhood mischief, unexpected visitors, and memories that made each house feel like Heaven.

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